


When You Were Mine

by cnroth



Series: Cardigan [2]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:21:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26567260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cnroth/pseuds/cnroth
Summary: You know the girl Tom cheated with, but what about the one he cheated on?Being a Starfleet brat is hard. Big dreams and even bigger expectations are heavy burdens to bear alone, and Clemencia Hayes is glad to have Tom by her side to help her carry the weight. But what if she doesn’t have him like she thinks she does?A prequel to “A Million Little Lies”
Relationships: Tom Paris & Phoebe Janeway, Tom Paris/Clemencia Hayes
Series: Cardigan [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1932271
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	When You Were Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Curator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curator/gifts).



> _”But I knew you, dancing in your Levi’s, drunk under a streetlight. I knew you, hand under my sweatshirt, baby kiss it better.”_
> 
> —Taylor Swift, “Cardigan”

I know what people say about us.

They say we’re only together for appearances. That our fathers arranged the match. That we’re more of a political couple than a real couple. That we’re just two vapid, privileged, good-looking kids who think we’re too good to mingle with anyone below our station. We are, after all, the children of decorated Starfleet admirals—my father, Jeremiah Hayes, and Tom’s father, Owen Paris.

People who say these things don’t know us at all.

They don’t know that Tom and I have been friends for longer than I can remember. We grew up together, went to all the same schools, shared family dinners while our fathers were away on missions, and kept each other sane through endless numbers of Starfleet events. 

They’re right that appearances are important in families like ours, though it isn’t for the reasons they assume.

Tom and I stand side-by-side, hands linked but no other parts of our bodies touching, at the First Contact Day celebration at Starfleet Headquarters. It’s six days before Tom’s seventeenth birthday, so Admiral Paris managed to get leave to come back to Earth for a week so he could spend both occasions with his family.

Apparently, this requires a whole lot of holophotos.

Tom and me. _Click._ Tom, me, and our siblings. _Click_. Tom, me, and our parents. _Click._ Our fathers and their spouses. _Click_. Our fathers alone together. _Click_. Both of our families together. _Click_. Each of our families individually. _Click, click_.

“Who do you think will win Best In Show?” Tom mutters into my ear between pictures. “Us, or the admirals?”

I snort.

“Maria Clemencia!” Papa Emilio snaps. “Focus!”

“Fuck me,” I grumble, then adjust the straps of my glittering gold gown and paste on another smile.

Rationally, I understand why our parents are making such a big production of this. With my brother and both of Tom’s sisters now away at school, and Admiral Paris back in the field, it’s rare for all of us to be in the same place at the same time. I should be happy. Papa says someday I’ll be thankful to have holophotos of family and friends to remember good times.

Right now, though, I’d be much happier with a plate full of hors d'oeuvres.

“At least _try_ to look like you want to be here with your old men, Clemmie,” Father Jem tells me, a teasing look on his face as he squeezes my shoulder. 

My face relaxes a little. “Sure, Dad.” With a sigh, I reset my smile and pose for another photo. _Click._

Tom squeezes my hand, warming my icy mood with the reminder that I’m not alone in hating this absurd display.

After the pictures are done, Dad and Admiral Paris laugh over flutes of champagne and seem to forget we exist. I’m about to drag Tom to the snack table when all four Janeways walk up. Their oldest daughter, Ensign Kathryn Janeway, serves with Admiral Paris on the Al-Batani. I suppose she took leave, too, and came back to Earth with him.

“Edward,” Admiral Paris says, thrusting out a hand to Admiral Janeway. “How the hell are you?”

“Buried in mountains of paperwork.” Admiral Janeway shakes Paris’ hand. “As always.”

“Ain’t that the goddamn truth,” my father says, taking Janeway’s hand next.

I straighten my posture and brace myself for the mandatory re-introductions. First come the spouses—Tom’s mother, Admiral Janeway’s wife, and my papa. Next come us kids—Tom and his sisters, my brother and me, and Kathryn and her sour-faced younger sister, Phoebe. 

We’ve met before at previous Starfleet functions, but the Janeway family never did transport to San Francisco very often. I’ve seen Phoebe at a couple of my school’s parrises squares tournament games with Amy Chao and that shit-talking bitch Inez Santos—why she’s friends with _them_ , I don’t know. As for Kathryn, I haven’t run into her since she was a cadet.

Eventually, Tom and I make our escape and work our way through the refreshment line. With plates and punch in hand, we find an empty table on the far side of the ballroom where I can _finally_ satisfy the growling in my stomach.

Tom stares at the bright red punch with a concerned look on his face.

“It’s not poisoned,” I say, taking a sip of the sweet, fruity drink. “It’s actually decent.”

He lifts it to his nose and sniffs, then tips some of the liquid into his mouth and grimaces. “It’d be better if we spiked it.”

“Shh!” I kick him playfully under the table, glancing around to see if anyone nearby heard. “You’re gonna get us in trouble!”

“Who cares?” He raises his eyebrows. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t drink it.”

I cross my arms and lift my nose in the air. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh really?” A teasing smile spreads over his face. He drags my chair closer and puts his lips to my ear. “I think you’re lying,” he murmurs, warm breath tickling my ear.

The sensation makes me jump, and I giggle as I push him away. 

We both know exactly what night he’s thinking of. It was a little over a month ago. He convinced me to crash a party one of the jocks at school was throwing, and we both went a little overboard on the drinks. 

After a while, we wandered away from the crowd and found our way to a small park. The walking path was empty, lit by a row of beautiful, twinkling lamp posts. We had the place entirely to ourselves. Tom started singing this cheesy love song that everyone at school was obsessed with, then he wrapped his arms around my waist and we just… danced.

It didn’t last long because we kept tripping over each other’s feet. Soon the dancing became kissing that was so much more intense than anything we’d done before. Normally, I don’t like major public displays of affection. That was never a problem with Tom because, despite his rebellious streak, he’d always been so chaste with me.

But that night, he kissed me like I was a cold drink of water after a three mile run, and I allowed it. He pressed me up against the lamp post, his arousal growing against my hip, and I allowed it. His fingers drifted under my blouse, and I allowed it.

My hands slipped into the back pockets of his jeans, and he allowed it.

Thankfully, a jogger passed by, snapping us out of our fever dream, and that’s as far as we went. Thrilling as the kissing was, having sex in a park is just about the last way I want my first sexual experience to go. Even fooling around there was a poor choice. We’re both lucky the jogger didn’t know us and didn’t care.

Still, I can’t quite bring myself to regret what we did. It’s the one rebellious thing I’ve ever done, and I’ll never forget watching Tom sing like a fool in the off-white glow of a street lamp.

Tom has never looked at me the same way since then. Now, there’s a desire in his eyes that wasn’t there before. I feel it, too, but we have to be careful. We’re still in high school. It isn’t appropriate for us to follow through on these feelings yet. If someone found out, it would tarnish both of our reputations.

The image I maintain takes a whole-hearted commitment. I can’t just pretend to be future Starfleet Admiral Clemencia Hayes around certain people and drop the act around others. I have to embody this woman I’m going to become. I must believe in her to my bones. An admiral is supposed to be disciplined and self-controlled, so that is what I must be.

Sometimes, though, I think I’d rather be rebellious and carefree like Tom is.

Suddenly, my mood takes a nosedive, and the canapés and skewers on my plate don’t look so appealing. I run my perfectly-manicured nails over the tablecloth, eliciting a quiet, almost musical sound. Classy piano and strings music fills the air, warm lights brightening up the room while floor-to-ceiling windows show a mostly-clear night sky outside.

Tom’s fingers trace invisible patterns onto my forearm, raising gooseflesh in my skin that tingles all the way to my thighs. My cheeks feel hot. I meet his ocean-blue gaze and he gives me a sly smile. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

He leans in, nose brushing against mine, then presses our lips together.

For a moment, I lose myself and kiss him back the way I did that night, dragging his bottom lip between my teeth.

But then his tongue is in my mouth and his hand is on my thigh and my heart is beating too fast and, oh God, someone’s going to see us and all I can hear in my head is Papa’s shrill rebuke—“ _Maria Clemencia Ramírez Hayes! What do you think you’re doing, young lady?_ ”

I pull away, our lips parting with a smack that probably sounds louder in my head than it really is, but still makes me all the more paranoid. “Not here,” I hiss.

“Sorry,” he mutters, and slumps back into his seat. 

Great. Somehow I’ve managed to take an already bad evening and make it worse—and, of all people, with the only one I feel like I can really lean on. What is the matter with me?

We sit in sullen, awkward silence for several minutes until Tom excuses himself to go to the bathroom. He’s gone for a long time.

I’ve got the tip of my fake thumbnail pinched between my teeth, a full-blown argument raging in my head over whether I should go look for him or not, when a tall, dark-skinned god of a man in a cadet’s dress uniform stops at my table and flashes the most perfect, charming smile I’ve ever seen. “A lovely lady like you shouldn’t be sitting alone. Can I offer you a dance?”

I’m caught completely off-guard, staring dumbly up at the guy for what feels like an eternity before I pull myself together, drop my hand from my mouth, and force my lips into a smile. “Sure. I’m Clemencia. And you are...?”

He holds out his hand, palm up, and bows. “Liam MacIntyre.”

Admiral MacIntyre’s oldest son. The MacIntyres live in Glasgow, and I’ve never known the kids to come to official functions before. I wonder why Liam came tonight. He isn’t much older than I am—a year, I think, maybe two—but perhaps he wants to get a jump on making connections that will help him climb the ranks once he graduates from the academy. I can respect that.

In fact, I can help him build these vital connections because, like Dad, I know everything about everyone important to the upper echelons of Starfleet.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Liam,” I say, my smile relaxing into something more natural. Resting my hand in his, I allow him to help me to my feet and lead me to the dance floor.

The man is an absolute delight.

By the time our dance is over, Liam has me feeling nearly a hundred percent better. Not that I confide in him with anything going on between Tom, me, and our families. I’d never do that. Liam is just so witty, friendly, and easygoing in a way that somehow rubs off on me. He helps me get out of my own head without even knowing what’s going on inside of it.

Now I know what I have to do—find Tom and talk about what happened between us before he left.

For a long while, I weave through the crowd looking for him. My family hasn’t seen him. Neither has his family. I even bump into Ensign Janeway, but she hasn’t seen him since he and I took off for refreshments.

Only when I decide to take a bathroom break do I find what I’m looking for.

As I duck into the hall outside the bathrooms, I hear a girl’s voice coming from the stairwell. It’s sharp and clear, like every word she says is one she believes in and will never apologize for. I know immediately who it is. The confidence in how she speaks is a well-known family trait.

Phoebe Janeway.

Then comes Tom’s voice, and I recognize the tone in it. He’s flirting. Granted, he does have a tendency to flirt with… well, anyone. Sometimes he does it on purpose to charm people, and other times he’s just being friendly and doesn’t realize what he’s doing. 

I remind myself of this as I stand next to the bathroom door, listening to these two— _only_ these two—voices echo through the adjacent stairwell. The conversation is casual. Neither of them is saying anything that should worry me, and I don’t hear them doing anything other than talking.

Still, he’s supposed to be by my side tonight. We’re a team, him and I. We keep each other upright so we don’t collapse under the pressure our families and community have put on us.

Could he have seen me dancing with Liam? Would that really have bothered him so much that he doesn’t want to spend time with me? Or did he just ditch me because I didn’t want to make out in the middle of a ballroom surrounded by so many Starfleet officials—not to mention our own families?

I take a deep breath. Go to the bathroom. Stare at myself in the mirror while I wash my hands. I’m angry and hurt and also incredibly scared of what people might say or think of me spending the rest of the evening alone. “ _Where is that handsome boyfriend of yours—Owen Paris’ son? I’d like to talk about yesterday’s shuttlepod race with him_ …”

Fuck them.

I am Clemencia fucking Hayes, future admiral for Starfleet Command. I can be interesting all by myself, and I can handle a party without anyone’s help. I’ve been practicing for this all my life, and it’s high time the training wheels come off. Tom doesn’t like Starfleet events, and he avoids these crowds as much as he can. That’s his choice. He can do what he wants.

And I can work the room to build the future I want. 

A smile creeps onto my face. I think I’ll start with Liam MacIntyre. If I help him now, he’ll probably help me later.

Stepping once more into the hall, I hear Tom and Phoebe commiserating about their families. I’m tempted to join, because I can very much relate. Maybe we children of admirals should start a support group.

I bite my lip.

That stairwell is not where I’m supposed to be, and complaining about being a Starfleet brat is not the kind of talk I’m supposed to entertain. Tom doesn’t want to climb the ladder, and his piloting skills will no doubt get him places, so he doesn’t need to network that extensively. I do. 

I’m lucky to be an admiral’s daughter. Sure, I have to play politics and jump through hoops sometimes, but that will all pay off when I’m in the fleet. I’ve been given an advantage, but it won’t get me very far if I don’t use it to the fullest. I can’t afford to slack off.

With one last look towards the stairwell, I turn on a slender heel and make my way back into the ballroom.


End file.
